Menu

Fiction

This story is part of the Irish themed Absolute Write Forum blog chain for this month. It is a companion tale to that that I wrote for the last years March blog chain. Hopefully it stands up as a work all by itself but you might like to read the other story here to get maximum enjoyment.

My name is Maria Starr, I am worried about my husband. He has been acting very strangely at home. Although no-one at church seems to have noticed. He used to be such a kind, attentive and gentle soul. That all changed one overcast night in March last year. I recount these events in the vain hope someone out there might help me make sense of all this and bring back the man I married.

We were watching the St Paddys day parade through the village, my husband never much of a drinker, turned up, three sheets to the wind. I suppose given the day he blended into the crowd, to everyone else but me. I asked him where he had been, he snapped at me cursing, telling me it was none of my… none of my business. Right there in the street. Normal drunken behaviour for some of you no doubt, but not for my man. He never spoke to me that way.

I took him home, dragging him past the Constables house, and with a struggle onto our sofa where he slept, for almost a day. When he awoke I told him what had happened. He said he couldn’t remember anything and that he was very sorry. I was annoyed for a few days until my friends convinced me that he was “just a man” and this behaviour after years of marriage was to be expected.Nothing out of the ordinary happened for 6 months after that. I thought that I was being silly and my friends were right. I was lucky to have such a man.

This view changed once again last September. I came home early from work one day, I found my husband sat in our bedroom in the gloom, rocking back and forth, sweating from every pore. I had heard loud voices so I thought my husband must have been talking on the phone, but the phone was on the cradle in the hallway as usual. He seemed to be in some kind of trance. He didn’t notice me enter the room and he kept rocking, slowly back and forth murmuring something about a girl. Lorna.
“Lorna?” I said.
When her name left my lips my husband let out a sobbing wail. I asked him again to tell me why he was talking about her. No-one had seen her since she walked out on Chris years ago. Even Chris was surprised she cut off all contact.

The morning after this episode, my husband was again fine. He said he was feeling the pressure at work and he was sorry if I’d been upset. It’s been pretty much normal now for two weeks, but its always on my mind. What am I going to find him doing next, its scary.

I have suggested we take a holiday get away from it all. But he says a bit of time alone in the garden will do him the world of good. He has brought some new tools to keep the garden tidy which has to be positive. I am still worried however as I have heard him talking to himself when he thinks I’m asleep. He has been saying some godless things, I pray for him each night and urge you to as well. I don’t know where I will send this letter, maybe I won’t need to God willing. My husband has been very happy today cutting back some trees in the garden with the chainsaw, it’s very loud and at times I could have sworn it was right outside the door.

Like this:

“17th floor please.”
“Oh, in to the frying pan eh”
“Well I told them, I said there is no way that was going to work.”
“You got nothing to worry about then have you… Why does this lift take so long?”
“Maybe the hamster died!”
“Hamster?”
“Yeah the one in the wheel that powers all three lifts!”
“Finally! Movement, if you can call it that. When is your meeting? Do you have time?”
“I have about 10 minutes”
“Should just about make it then. You know he won’t let you in if you are late don’t you?”
“I heard that but I thought it was just a rumour”

Fifth Floor, doors closing lift going up

“Morning…”

Seventh Floor, doors opening.
Doors closing, going up.

“God I hate him.”
“Watkinson, yeah. I saw you gazing at the floor”
“The guy is a idiot. Part of the reason it all failed, but will he get any flack?”
“No course not, he’ll get promoted.”
“I’d laugh but it’s all too true. Lets hope no-one gets in from nine!”
“Here he goes again with the totally unjustified hatred of the workers of floor nine”
“Unjustified it’s not unjustified.”
“Steve, if you choose to have sexual intercourse, no less, next to the photocopier and then get caught it’s hardly their fault.”
“Hmm. They got me suspended for…”
“9 months.. Yes I know, you’ve told me. At least once, maybe six hundred times”
“Yeah well it’s not like she was worth it.”
“You are only bitter cos you got toner dust on your bum”
“That stuff doesn’t come off… My wife noticed.”
“What did she say when you got suspended?”
“She didn’t stick around. All because of those bastards on nine.”
“Yes OK Steve. Whatever you say.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Loud wasn’t it? These lifts are clunky but that was something else.”
“Now the lights.”
“Hang on I’ve got my lighter in here somewhere.”
“I thought you’d given up.”
“Anyone would think you wanted to stay in the dark. Here we go”
“Should I press the alarm button?”
“Now would be the very best time I would think.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“Nope. Try again.”
“Still nothing. For fucks sake”
“Don’t worry I’m sure someone will be along in a minute, Watkinson knows we are in here”
“Oh yes!…. Do you have any signal on your phone?”
“No.. I don’t think so..let me check.. Oh fuck that’s hot.”
“Oh well done Steve. The end with the flame is hot! Good luck finding it in the dark down there.”
“Move over I think you are stood on it.”
“I move, it creaks.”
“It’s only creaking, besides it’s not like you weigh anything”
“Ok but I’m scared.”
“I’m sure it will be fine, better when it’s not pitch black eh Suze”
“Ok ok, You found it?”
“Yep got it.”
“That’s better”
“Suze?”
“Yes Steve”
“Are you holding my hand?”
“I’m scared, I hate these lifts. I’m sorry I’ll let go if you like”
“No it’s ok. I kinda like it.”
“Good as long as it’s not weirding you out”
“No not at all….”
“…. Steve…”
“Yeah”
“I have often thought what it would have been like if it were me by the photocopier. With you I mean.”
“Wha… Wait it’s the doors, they’re opening.”

The beast slowly approached David as he lay prone on the grass. It seemed to know he couldn’t move. It took the time to sniff David’s feet before raising its mighty head to look him in the eye. Its mouth leisurely opened and its gaping yaw slavered over his incapacitated legs.

David tried once more to move, he felt nothing below his waist. His own fault for not listening to his supervisor, a rather rotund gentleman named Jim.
“Never fell the Ellsbury tree in daylight” Jim told him.
“It’ll root around you as soon as it touches the ground” Jim said.
“Blah blah bloody great beasts Ellsbury Jacobies will eat you blah blah” Jim said.
“If the Jacobies are going to eat you.” Jim continued in Davids head. “If you were stupid enough, to cut down the tree. Listen carefully. You must.. blah blah”

Damn my short attention span thought David. As he felt the creatures warm breath on his face.
“Hi.” It said.
David thought he was hallucinating.
“Hello Mr Tree Cutter” the beast continued, it’s large round face wearing a puzzled look. “Anyone in there”
“Urm Hello.” Spluttered David.
“Thanks for cutting down my tree.”
“Erm well I’m sorry if’d I known it was your tree..”
“No, no” the beast interrupted “Thank you very much, the missus has been on about me doing it for ages, keeps sunlight out of our conservatory. You did me a huge favour”
David was now not only numb in his legs, but his head numbed too. This killer monster was apparently thanking him for improving the lighting in his house, he must be dreaming.
“Belinda noticed the light instantly. Mind you, “ the creature continued “Bit stupid doing it during the day though. Did you not hear what they say?”
That a Jacobie would eat you yes I heard that, thought David. He didn’t hear however that they would come out and talk to you first.
“I heard it.” David said quietly.
“But you decided to go ahead anyway. I like that spirit” The beast tossed his mane-topped head back and laughed a hearty laugh that allowed David to see all his razor sharp teeth. “I’m Brandon by the way”
“David.” David replied extending a hand towards the beast massive paw, twice the size of David’s head.
Brandon took his hand and shook it much more gently than David expected.
“You are in a bit of a bind there David.” Said Brandon, running his paw over the rough Ellsbury bark that wrapped round David’s legs. “I don’t think I can do anything to help you, the Ellsbury is a bugger when it takes hold.”
“You can’t help?” David felt the panic rising.
“Hang on I might have something in my garage, we don’t have long.” Brandon lumbered off as fast as his huge legs would carry him.
David lay back on the grass, still half-heartedly trying to wriggle free. He wondered what Brandon would find in his garage to help, or indeed why Brandon wanted to help at all. Was he a monster who liked to chase his prey? He seemed like a reasonable fellow maybe David could just ask him politely not to eat him.
David noticed the ground around him had become cast in a dark shadow. Great, rain he thought. All I need.
“Very sorry David. I really can’t help you. There is no time” Said an out of breath Brandon, sweat dripping off his tongue.
“You don’t have to help ok. Just don’t eat me.” Said David, hesitantly.
“What? Me, eat you?” Brandon once again looked puzzled. “I won’t eat you, I’m a vegetarian.”
“I’d heard that Jacobies ate those who cut down the Ellsbury tree.”
“Unfortunately you heard right. But I’m not a jacobie.” Brandon shouted. running towards his house, pointing above David’s head at what had cast the shadow on the ground. “That’s a jacobie. I’m sor…”

The Resident Weeble also did another Friday Fiction piece this week. Check it out here

Like this:

Today is the day. My time to shine, make my mark or whatever other snappy phrase you want to call it. Time for a new beginning.

To be fair I’ve been in my comfort zone now for too long and I’m itching to get out and get started. I’ve heard murmurs about great opportunities for me, but it is the great unknown out there and really it’s frightening to think about. But I have to get out of here, I’ve outgrown it really y’know. That must sound arrogant, I’m not really like that, at least I hope I’m not, I suppose we’ll find out in time.

Strange thing is, I have no real plans at the moment, other than my escape, my emergence from the darkness. Some might say this is foolhardy but I’m pretty sure, as daunting as the world outside is, I’m sure there will be people who look out for me. I’m not one to shun assistance, not to begin with anyway. No shame in getting a little help here and there until I’m standing on my own two feet.

I don’t know how I got stuck here anyway. I’ve acted instinctively for as long as I can remember, done what felt right. Moved around where I could in order to grow and develop. Yet I still find myself in the same place, doing the same things. I’m hoping my skills will stand me in good stead for life out-there in the future. Fingers and toes crossed eh!

As restless as I am, I will miss this old place, I have grown attached to it over my time here and it has been good to me. There is a great deal of security here, I know every lump and bump on the walls. Whilst all that has its benefits it can get real boring at times. Sometimes I get frustrated and kick out, but after a few seconds of movement and more murmurs nothing changes. All feels like wasted effort. That’s why I know it’s time to go.

I’ve prepared best I can, following those instincts once more I’ve made sure I am in the perfect position, don’t want to start fighting the good fight with one arm behind my back or anything like that. This will be a day to remember, a day the murmurs stop for good.

Its beginning I can feel it.

The walls around me moving, pushing me, forcing me to leave all that I have ever known behind. I feel cold cold air on the top of my head. This is definitely it. I’m going out into the big wide world, it’s so scary, so new. My ears are next to feel the cold, then my face. I open my eyes, it’s oh so bright.

Oh my, I want to go back! Forget all that I said.

My body sliding out , the murmured tones, are now clear voices. “One last push” I hear. Followed very closely by a piercing wail that seems to be coming from me.
Then excited voices continue “It’s a boy!”

This is the first in a series aimed at forcing me to write at least once a week. Every Friday I will make every attempt to write something fictional for you to endureenjoy. This is something a little different.

The 90’s has a lot to answer for Luke thought as he fumbled for £3.50 in change to pay for his daily coffee. The shop was strangely empty for a Tuesday morning, in fact as he continued to fumble in his pocket hopping towards the till like some demented antelope on ice, he noticed that he, Luke Russell, was the only customer. His train of thought stopped dead when she spoke.
“Hello Sir.” She said “What can I get you?”
Luke froze, hand still in his pocket. He opened his mouth to reply but no words could be found. She was quite stunning, he thought. She had long dark hair, blue eyes that had Luke mesmerised. He fell in love easily and with alarming regularity. It was happening again.
“Sir?” she repeated, “Are you OK?”
Luke looked down at his pocketed hand, and withdrew it faster than a catholic on honeymoon. He felt his face redden and he was suddenly glad for the apparent decline in Starbucks business.
“I wasn’t…” he began. “….My change.”
She smiled a wide perfect smile which caused Luke to fall in Love all over again.
“What can I get you?”
“Medium Americano” he said amazed finally managed to order.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“…Luke” he said, pausing before remembering why she asked. For the cup.
“Sugar Luke?”
“No. You are sweet enough.” The very moment he felt the words leave his mouth he tried to reach out to stop them, now he was sure his face was crimson with embarrassment, if the floor wasn’t kind enough to open and swallow him he would take his coffee and sit far away, preferably outside. In fact he would never visit the store again yes….. She laughed ending his torment.
“Thank you Luke.” She said brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. “Sugar for your coffee?”
“No thank you.”
“Take a seat, I’ll bring it over.”

Luke scurried away a corner table. He sat down and watched his coffee being prepared. The shop was still empty and very quiet. Aside from the grind of coffee beans and the gentle pan-pipe musak nothing was to be heard. The beautiful barista delivered Luke’s coffee as promised.
“Thanks.” He said. “Why is it so quiet today?”
“No idea. But it’s good for me. It’s my first day.”
“Oh, I thought I hadn’t seen you before. I come here most days. I’m Luke.”
She laughed again.
“I know I wrote on your cup. I’m Aubrey.”
Luke laughed.
“Pleased to meet you.” He said, extending his hand. “Feel free to sit down with me. I would offer to buy you coffee but..”
“You are silly.” She said as she pulled out a chair and sat down. “But that’s a good thing.” She added noticing the wounded look on Luke’s face.
He took a sip of coffee, remembering too late that, as the lid of his cup warned, contents were indeed hot. The Americano took the consistency of broken glass in his mouth. He felt it burn all the way down. Yet another stupid move, but one he felt he got away with.
“Hot?” she said.
He hadn’t.

“Than holy hell.” He replied with a pained smile.
“96 degrees. Just how they showed me.” She said, again pushing another stray strand of hair away from her face. “But my Mother told me when I was tiny to wait for drinks to cool down before drinking.”
“Smart woman. But then she will have never experienced the thrill and searing pain.”
“True.” Aubrey said and smiled. “Is it always this quiet here?”
“No, never seen it like this before. Usually full of suits with laptops.”
“Looking busy.”
“Yes exactly. “Luke replied, nodding and moving his hand tentatively towards his coffee. “Maybe they are all working from home or something”
“I’d love to do that, you could never be late then.”
Luke nodded and risked another try at drinking his coffee, a sudden dawn of realisation crept over his face.
“Late! Oh crap” he exclaimed and stood up from his chair. “Thank you so much for the coffee, but I am late for a meeting. Will I see you again?”
“Depends if you want coffee. Or if they fire me.”

He was about to reply, but his morning alarm went off in his ear. 6:30am, way too early but plenty of time for morning coffee.

Like this:

“You cannot underestimate the value of a perfect match.” Eddie said, clouds curling round his feet. “Get that right and this job is easy.”

It was Malcolms first day. Not with the company, he’d been with Cloud Solutions for five years, but this was a promotion, the big leagues, high profile matchmaking. He was nervous and it was clear that Eddie was looking for perfection, which wasn’t really helping. He’d been on top of Cumulus MMA for half an hour now and it just didn’t feel like he’d expected

“What happens if the match is wrong?” Malcolm asked, peering over his clipboard.
“Well at the very least you are looking at months of work. We don’t just randomly throw people together, my team have developed many algorithms that make sure every match we make is a hit.”

Malcolm was not a man who liked an “Algorithm”, he much preferred the personal touch. Especially when it came to matters of the heart. Eddie seemed cold and unemotional about it all but maybe it was the secret to remaining effective. Eddie was in his mid-fifties, chubby round the middle like he enjoyed more than the odd beer of a evening. He’s face was weather worn, and his features very defined, even though his mouth was almost hidden in-amongst thick stubble. He wore blue jeans topped off by an old leather jacket over a chunky knit black jumper.

Eddie caught Malcolm looking him over.

“What?” He asked.
“It’s just,” Replied Malcolm, hugging his clipboard for protection “you don’t exactly look like a typical match maker.”
“The clients don’t see us, we make the match and track how it unfolds. I could come to work in my boxers for all they care. They want us to do what is needed to fill the contract that’s it.”
“Oh. That’s not how it comes across in the magazines”
“What kinda magazines have you been reading? Jesus, look here.”
Eddie reached into the cloud and pulled out two files , opened them and began to talk through the contents of each in turn. “Look, this geezer here will be a great match for this girl. Really get the job done.”

Malcolm thought this to be a trifle blunt.

“He’s got a nice car, so that gives us options.” Eric continued. “He’s a big lad..”
“Oh please, do we have to..”
“Tall, gutter mind. He’s 6’7”
“Oh.” Malcolm replied tail firmly between his legs. “Does she have a say in this? I mean she might not like burly guys”
“Like him?” Eddie looked puzzled.
“Yes, have a general rapport, to begin with anyway.”
“You are twisted,” Eddie said, playfully punching Malcolms shoulder. “I like that.”
Malcolm rubbed his shoulder. He was, by now totally confused. Here he was starting a matchmaker job on Valentines Day, of all days. With a boss who didn’t seem to know anything about relationships or love.
“I have to ask,” he said. “Who have you put together? Anyone famous?”
“Well there was that south african guy. Oscar something.. with a beautiful girl. He did a really good job, excellent match. No-one expected that.”
“But he killed her. You think that was a good match.”
“Yes of course.” Eddie replied surprised. “Thats our purpose here.”
“What? But you are a matchmaker.. cupid, arrows everything.”
“Cupid?!” Eddie laughed. “The only arrow people get with us is right between the eyes. You got your paperwork?”

Malcolm fumbled in his pockets and handed the papers HR had given him to Eddie.
Looking at them he said. “Aha, I see. You want the lovey dovey crap on Cumulus MMC! I am a real matchmaker, I decide who dies and the best way for them to do it, to meet their match. Game over.”

Hello dear reader it’s been a long time for which I again apologise (to all 5 of you!) Worry not my desire to write has not decreased, hence this piece. Merely my motivation and inner quality control has intervened

My fictional ideas, well my real ideas about fictional things, have been poor or similar to things I have done before, or both. So the little starts on bits I made have remained just starts, under developed characters in unrealistic situations. “That never stopped Russell T Davies” I hear you shout. Whilst I agree with this self heckle Russell TD is an award winning writer (mostly about his love for the “D” but still) and I am blogger, so he wins.

My opinion pieces, so pant wettingly well put together in the past have suffered over the last year. Why? Well 2014 was such an event packed year, generally speaking all of it horrid. Personally I got my shit together, but the world was busy going crazy. Lots to write about you may think. Well no, not really. There are many things I can’t write about because of work, of things I can speak of I don’t really add anything new to the party, in that I agree, because who wouldn’t, with the common consensus. Gunmen in cafes and the offices of paris satirists are bad. People protesting over everything, from “corrupt police” to “Jeremy Clarkson” None of it really interests me. There is no contrast, no grey area. If you think your God is offended by a cartoon, not a very strong willed God by the way.

So that leaves poetry. Seems my type of whimsy is well suited for the web, being that it’s short and easily forgettable, much like me! I like writing it, and some of you enjoy reading it, but I never intended this whole thing to be a tribute to Pam Ayres (much maligned as she is, name 5 poets, she’ll be in most peoples lists)

I always have enjoyed writing, like most things, I’ll never be the best or the most popular but I will always try to write things I like in the hope that anyone who reads it might like them too. Hopefully I’ll hop back on the fiction wagon soon, with a twist so devious even Chubby Checker would be jealous. Who knows when motivation strikes.

Like this:

I am far from being a professional writer. Some people actually like what I write, which continues to amaze me. I do favour the macabre, my stories often featuring a gruesome end for one of many of my characters. I am no good at fantasy, story wise of course give me a beautiful american, Karen Gillan a Nun’s outfit and a stick of Celery and I can fantasise all day!

Sex on wheels.. no?

I digress I have been challenged to write different genres, sci-fi and more recently romance. Now I class myself as a romantic kinda guy, the candles, moonlight, diamonds and poetic serenades have all played a part in my life. But writing romance for me is proving very difficult.

OK so it’s going to be published here. So I try therefore to keep it under 1000 words, otherwise no-one will read it. So that gives me a thousand words to establish at least two likeable (a stretch for me) characters who you dear reader will be championing, wondering will they, won’t they, but knowing that they will for it is a Romance after all. Believable dialog is also required along with some kind of tension that allows me to twist and turn.

Trouble is, everything I have tried so far is cliché central. “She looked deep into his steely grey eyes and trembled” OK not quite but close. I don’t want trembling in my story, not lips or knees (I have enough trouble standing as it is) I want strong characters. It’s too easy to write about a bewildered woman who cannot exist without a man. I don’t believe these women actually exist (if they do my email is in the about section.. just saying)

I know these stories are supposed to pander to a fantasy. A fantasy where the dragons and wizards are replaced with perfect men who’s farts smell of roses and has baby soft skin with the talent for fucking, sorry “making love” that rivals Neymars skills with a football. The rose tinted quest continues.

Welcome to my house. It’s not much but I’ve lived here as long as I can remember, it has a nice garden Don’t you think? Come in why don’t you, I am pleased to see you. Although it has to be said I’m not sure why you are here. But the more the merrier.

I like visitors, well most of the time. They stop me getting bored, each visitor brings a thousand stories, stories which they don’t even know they are telling. I am an excellent reader of body language and behaviour, I find it very useful it helps me get what I want. Not that I want for much, everything is here. My family, refreshment and a comfy place to lay my head. Anything else is just fluff don’t ya think?

I see you walked here. I am very active. Well you have to be, I don’t want to get fat. That happened to a friend of mine. They put him on a diet his food was horrible! I like to run out in the sunshine, feel the breeze against my face. You should come along sometime, you’ll really enjoy it. Although those shoes don’t seem like running shoes to me. Maybe another day?

The others? Oh yes follow me. They are in the kitchen with all the wonderful food, Can you smell it? Isn’t it amazing? It really makes my mouth water. You can have whatever you want. I’ve already eaten but if you want to save some for me It won’t get wasted.

I’ll leave you to introduce yourself to the others, shake hands and such things. I’ve always found that a strange custom. In my experience I’ve found you can learn so much about new friends in other ways. Handshakes are boring, although I have been told that my handshaking skills are very good. People seem to like them.

You’ll have to excuse me. I am quite tired now after greeting everyone. I am going to go and lie down. Just call me though and I’ll come running. I am so very pleased you are all here. After you have had your food and I’ve had a little snooze, how about I show you the garden. It’s my favourite place in the whole wide world. As we are the best of friends maybe you can throw my favourite ball just a few times.

Like this:

Time is relative. For instance it is infinite but also limited, never ending but running out. Simultaneously best and worst ever all across the world. Babies being born whilst one mans time is almost up. In 56 minutes or indeed 3386 seconds, to be more precise, the man everyone knew as Mr Anthony Di Costa would be dead.

That is of course if I did the job properly.

To do something like this you have to be in the correct frame of mind you see. Focused on the outcome at all times otherwise the job ends up half done and it’s really messy. Not an experience I want again. That’s why timing is crucial, even down to the last second. True there are variables to consider, especially in a city of this size. Relatives for example tend to get in the way of a task like this if they are not held up in the Wednesday afternoon traffic on the way back from Target.

Today is a Wednesday. Almost like I planned it.

Method of course is also important. I have learnt this from experience too. You use the wrong tool for the job and you will have lots of explaining to do. A considerable pain as I recall. So today I have prepared a shotgun, with shells big enough to dispose of a bear from 100 feet away. This is not a weapon for second chances. One shot, all over.

I often wonder how I found myself in this situation. I mean here I am in a city full of opportunity. College years now long behind me, but I came out of that with some good grades. A boring but well paid job was just out there waiting for me they said. But here I am.
If I let myself think back to those college days for too long, my mind always wanders. There was a girl, there is always a girl, she lived out on the island with this little dog that always barked like a mad thing whenever I visited her. If she had said “yes” to me on the day I gazed into those beautiful eyes and asked her to be my wife, would I be here, gun in hand? Who knows. I don’t have time to ponder that anymore. My window of opportunity grows smaller.

Gun loaded, ready for the task. That’s how I had to think of it, a task, something to be done, finished. No emotion, that was another mistake from before. I guess you can say I am far from the best man for the job, but options, I suppose, are very thin on the ground.

The time is upon me now. This needs to be done before I back out. Eyes on the prize. C’mon now Anthony. Step into the light, I can do this. Focus, fingers on the trigger, white with pressure and adrenaline. This was the moment, shotgun barrel pointed upwards and pressed hard against my chin and now to embrace the end.